Anyway, I Knew This Would Happen

Anyway, I knew it would happen. Mum told me to look out for a surprise at school. Before I could even speak to him, Dexter started fighting me. No surprise there - but he then tried to stuff a piece of paper down my throat while shouting out words we normally only whisper. When I had wiped all the spit of the paper, I found this ...


DOROTHY MARSHALL - Governor in Waiting!

Hello there. As a mother of one son in Year 5, I would love to be a governor at Napton Valance Primary School. I obviously have a very keen interest in the education of my child and would like to further his career by being involved in running the school.

I am involved in a great deal of charity work for the old folk and often cook up huge quantities of my special organic vegetable medley (thanks to Oliver-James' parents for their regular giant veg donations!), so that the old folk can eat something healthy every so often. The old folk I visit often have cats which they LOVE - in fact I often find the old folk feed my organic vegetable medley to their cats because they love them so much. Touched by this display of feline affection, I not only doubled the quantity of medley I gave out, I also established, 'The League of Cats' charity shop in town. You must visit!

So, I still have a little spare time - even after helping my husband sort out his Rare and Unusual Teeth Collection - to assist the head teacher in sorting things out. I'm good at that. Just ask Wilfred!

Warmest Wishes
Dorothy (me in fancy dress!)

P.S. Alot of the old folk live in bungalows built by Mr Dooley. They often have bad chests and damp related illnesses.

We Must Unite!

Mrs Trundle is not at school for a few days. According to us she has gone off to assassinate the second son of a Lithuanian duke. Mr Bagnall says she's not feeling herself. Ha.

Anyway, Mr Bagnall has seized power. His first act is to tell everyone that parents can become governors at the school - Mrs Trundle never allowed this. I think this is a stupid idea:

a. because when she comes back she will be thirsting for blood and parent-governors will be top of her hitlist.
b. because there will be actual fighting between parents about who is going to be a governor
c. parents will make sure we are all working

I get together with a load of others in the playground for an important meeting:

'My parents will be at school tomorrow, demanding to be school governors when they hear about this,' says Itisham. 'They really, really like to interfere.' This is a BIG worry. Iti's parents are both doctors. 'They will be looking out for diseases every two minutes and giving us jabs all over the place.' Iti shakes his head. 'We'll have to wash a lot.'
I shudder. 'Well, mine cannot get enough committees and groups to be head of in this tiny town. It is not enough for Mum that she bothers all the old people with her chatting and organic vegetable medley. Oh no, she'll be here forcing her organic vegetable medley on us and making us talk to girls about feelings.'
'D'you think she'll ban rugby?' asks Tyler and he fiddles with his illegal mini rugby ball. 'That would be bad.'
'My father was mayor in Poland!' shouts Polish Jacob, he likes to shout in english - he says everyone shouts at him in english. 'He will insist on being President of the governors!'
'There are only going to be two governors, Jake,' I say.
'That is enough for my father!' says Jake and he smacks one fist into his palm. 'He will bring in cabbage and beetroot soup and break dancing lessons!' Jake loves break dancing and he throws himelf onto his back and waggles his legs in the air. 'It is better than rugby!'
Tyler narrows his eyes. Dexter runs up, so something must be up.
'You'll never guess!' he says, then is distracted by Polish Jacob. 'You look like a beetle, Jake, is that what you are? A beetle?'
'Dexter!' I push him a bit until he falls over.
'I am break dancing!' shouts Jake.
'What?' I ask Dexter.
'What?' he replies, picking himself up. 'Oh yeah,' he pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. 'My dad's going to head governor - here have a leaflet.'

Dave Dooley I am 37 with one son, married for too long! Ha ha!!! Joking aside, I am a Director of the county's leading specialist bungalow building provider: DAVE DOOLEY - SPECIALIST IN BUGALOW BUILDING I am excellent at building bungalows and being in charge, so I believe I will be perfect as chief governor. My hobbies include bunglalow building, shouting and spending time with my family.

VOTE FOR ME!

'This is full of spelling errors,' points out Iti.
Dexter shrugs. 'Who cares, my dad'll ban spelling when he's chief governor.'
Everyone starts looking at everyone else.
'We must unite,' I say, 'not fight!' Then, 'for a change,' I add. Some hope.

Victory is Ours

So, a bunch of us run into the dining hall.
'Harvest festival display!' I shout, 'follow me!' Dexter and me leap over the neat rows of tins-of-food-that-you-never-eat-unless-you-are-absolutely-starving.
'Get behind the giant vegetables!' I yell. We are quite lucky because, Oliver-James's mum and dad are very keen on growing big veg. They brought in the biggest potato in the world on their roof rack. It took 10 juniors to lift it down.
I peep round the side of a monster cabbage.
Mr Bagnall strolls in. I think he is smiling but the moustache makes it difficult to tell. 'Well children, I have locked the outside door - you're safe.
Somewhere inside the school, some baby children scream.
'I don't think a locked door will stop Mrs Trundle,' I point out. 'She keeps a laser cutter in the caretaker's shed.'
'She's in!' shouts Tyler. Mrs Trundle charges into the hall. He arms himself with an oversized carrot.
'This is brilliant,' says Dexter, picking up a tin. 'It's like all those battles in Lord of the Rings or world war 1 or something.'
Mrs Trundle does some impressive Stick of Doom manouvres as she thunders towards us.
'Come out!' she screams. 'Those giant vegetables won't save you now!'
Mr Bagnall and his moustache leaps in front of her and we cheer. 'Remember your training! The children are your friends!!'
'HA!' she cries, then 'HA!' again.
'Don't make me say it,' says Mr Bagnall, 'just give me the stick and I won't say it...'
I look at Dexter and he looks at me.
'HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!'
'PUT THE STICK DOWN ... PRUNELLA!' shouts Mr Bagnall.
It is like the pause button has gone on until Dexter stands up.
'Prunella!' he says, 'is that her name?'
Everybody starts mouthing the word, 'Prunella.' I think it must be like when you know the real name of a demon or a wicked fairy and just by saying it, it takes away their power.
'PRUNELLA!!!' we all shout at her. 'PRUNELLA! PRUNELLA!'
She drops the stick and runs from the hall. Victory is ours.

Fascinating Invention No. 15 - The Parachute

Fascinating Invention No. 13 - The Parachute

The first parachute was drawn by Leonardo da Vinci in about 1500 but he never got round to making one. That was left to Faust Vrancic, who in 1617 actually jumped from a Venice tower holding onto a parachute. At least he did not use a dog for his experiment as this is what Jean Pierre Blanchard did in 1785.

He took his dog up in the air for a balloon ride, probably jollying him along with lots of talk about the view and whatever and then…’LOOK FIFI – A CAT! FETCH!’ and he chucks him over the side attached to a not very good parachute. Maybe the dog did not die because Blanchard did use a parachute again to escape from his balloon when it suddenly exploded (I think Fifi was getting her own back).

Anyway parachutes got better because of dogs and mad Frenchmen and soon it stopped looking like a rigid pyramid and became a silky umbrella. Lots of people starting jumping from towers and then aeroplanes, just for fun. The big problem was the wobbling canopy.

Lots of people tried to stop the wobble, including Sir George Cayley, who thought that a cone-shaped parachute would do the trick; until Robert Cocking became the first person to die in a cone-shaped parachute accident in 1837.

Of course, it was someone in the army, Captain Thomas Baldwin in 1887, who said they should cut a hole in the top to stop the wobble and this worked. Parachutes became VERY BIG in the wars and now you get loads of different types and loads of different types of people use them – but not dogs.

wheeeeee

Run For Your Lives

Itisham has a gerbil called, Lewis. He likes to put him in a green plastic ball and watch him charging all over the kitchen floor. He runs like mad in a straight line until he hits the broom/wall/cooker etc and then tumbles backwards to go the other way until he hits the broom/wall/cooker etc. Lewis reminds me of Dexter playing British Bulldog. He goes in a straight line until he hits a person/wall/the ground and then changes direction until he hits a person/wall/the ground. He is quite rubbish at playing this game because he gets over excited.

- he forgets where his home is
- he forgets who is on his team
- he forgets he is in school with teachers and dinner ladies all over the place

So, there he is forgetting everything. He has knocked over 5 baby children, got a whole load of girls to be on his team - most of them run round screaming, except for Alice Taylor who tries to be a nurse - and caught NOBODY, even though it is his turn to be bulldog.
THEN
Alice Taylor has me in an armlock. 'Just pretend you have a broken leg,' she orders, 'I'll mend you.'
'I've got you!' cries Dexter and he wraps his arms around me.
'Get off me, you idiot! It doesn't count when you're injured!'
'Yes it does!' yells Dexter, 'and you're my first catch! British bulldog, 1,2,3!'
'Shut up! It's stripey jumpers!'
'Oh, what a delightful game!' trills Mrs Trundle. She has appeared out of nowhere, her good eye twitches. 'Stripey Jumpers! I've never heard of that!'
Dexter jumps away from me and knocks into Polish Jacob.
'Yes,' says Polish Jacob, who knows nothing about British Bulldog and is even worse at it than Dexter, 'and you get to use the stick of power - here,' he says and thrusts a ginormous tree branch into her hands. I manage to stop myself slapping my hands to my head in utter despair. We are pushing her too far.
She trembles and I know she is trying not to use the stick of power on the nearest child.
'Back away slowly,' I hiss at Alice. 'She's going to lose it.'
'I can't stand it!' she roars. She runs at me with the stick. I scream a tiny bit and head for base.
'Don' do it! Mrs Trundle, resist - you know you can!' It is Mr Bagnall. His big moustache is wobbling as he shouts and runs to come between me and the Trundle. 'Don't give in to your violent urges!'
Too late. She is laughing and wielding the stick like a Gandalf.
Mr Bagnall blows his whistle. 'Get in,' he screams, 'run for your lives!'

British Bulldog

I cannot begin to talk about George and his stick-eating ways just at the moment - it is too painful.

So, here is what is happening at school. Mrs Trundle has come back from her course, 'A Way In - really communicating with your class' and is bothering everybody with excessive smiling and 'how are yous?' She seems to have given up the idea of a. being a part time assassin b. using school money to go on educating foreign trips c. being generally horrible.
It's all pretty disturbing.

I decide it is time to test this new niceness.
'Let's play British Bulldog,' I say to Dexter. We are mooching about in the playground, kicking the tiny stones we can scuff up from the tarmac.
'It's banned,' says Dexter.
I shrug.
'I see your point - maybe if we just have a couple of boys each,' says Dexter.
'Well, just don't tell everybody,' I say, 'you know what happened last time.'
He looks blank for a moment and then the light goes on. 'We got banned. I'll be Captain.'
'Me too,' I say, 'I did think of it.' I run off to find players, I want to get all the good ones before Dexter does.
I find Tyler and Itisham and Polish Jacob. Tyler does rugby and knows about charging about. We choose our home. It is the brown bit of grass underneath the office window. Dexter has the netball semi circle. Ha. We all come together in the middle. Polish Jacob, who is Polish and has no idea what is going on, agrees to be the bulldog.
'Just remember,' I whisper, 'no shouting, no really big hitting and don't say British Bulldog out loud.'
'But we still have to say "British Bulldog 1, 2, 3!" when we catch someone,' says Dexter.
'Call it 'Stripey Jumpers', says Tyler, who knows a thing or two about stripey jumpers.
'Agreed!' I say, 'Let's play!'
And that's when it starts going slightly wrong.

George's Black Hole

By Wednesday teatime we were all still alive and not sucked into a black hole where we are crushed into nothingness or forced to play parallel universe football. It is all a bit on the disappointing side really.
In actual fact our house is a bit like being in a parallel universe right now because my baby brother, George is on the move. He is like a black hole. He sucks us all into his horrible baby world and now we cannot escape and soon he will crush us into nothingness.

First off. He goes everywhere and we all have to follow him because of the terrible, terrible danger lurking at the edge of every cupboard door, table corner and under every cushion.

Look out! Run from the fluffy cushions!Aaaaaghhh!

Second off. It is The Rule that George is not allowed to put small things into his mouth because:
a. he will swallow it, be poisoned and die
b. he will try and swallow it, choke and die
c. he will not swallow it, stick it up his nose and die.
But nobody has told George The Rule because a very bad thing happened.

Mum plopped George into my room, without asking me. I know this because when I go into my room he is there, wobbling a bit as he stands up, hanging onto the stick insect table.
'Oi!' I say, 'what you doing?'
He does not answer and my insides go into a kind of freefall and I know something bad has occurred. Crunch. The it comes to me and suddenly my room is a million miles wide as I race across to save him.
Too late.
Sticky, my best stick insect is prodding out of George. His front legs are waving a bit like he is saying goodbye before he disappears into the black hole that is George's mouth.

Sticky, before the bad end.

This Is Not The Right Experiment For World Domination

Dexter called round and said we have to go and play football NOW because the end of the world is on Wednesday.

'You're talking gibberish rubbish again, Dexter,' I tell him.
I have decided to be extra clear about what I mean with Dexter - he is a bit thick at times. He kicks at his football and knocks over a pot plant.
'Well if you're not going to play then I'll have to ask Tyler because this is pretty much the last chance before we all get sucked into a black hole. Would've thought you'd heard about it, he says. 'My dad says they should close the school but I bet Mrs Trundle keeps it open and we'll all be doing a spelling test as we die.' He pulls an imaginary cord round his neck and lolls his tongue out.
'Yeah I know that,' I say, even though I did not because nobody can even hear the radio or TV withmy baby brother, George bellowing all the time; so I am spending more and more time with my earmuffs on talking to the sticks in my room. Even now, George is cranking himself up for a big yell upstairs. 'Yeah, should be good.'
'I wish we did science like that,' says Dexter, pushing the pieces of broken pot onto the gravel. 'A giant colliding thing would be ace.'
'A what?'
Dad pops his head up from the cellar stairs. He is polishing Lord Baden Powell's molar which he got for a present from Grandpa Jack.
'Large Hadron Collider,' he says to me, 'Thought you'd know about that.'
'I did,' I lie suavely or at least I soon will ...

So here it is:

THE LARGE HADRON COLLIDER

is not small even though it is dealing with the most tiny piece of the universe - a part of an atom called a hadron. The LHC is 26 miles of underground between France and Switzerland and has taken 10 years to build by 20 different countries.
It looks like a world domination experiment done by someone called, Dr Mad. When one of Dr Mad's evil assistants presses the big red button all the hadrons will hurl themselves from both ends of the tunnel, colliding. This will make the teeniest explosion ever in the tiniest amount of time. Dr Mad thinks he will have unleashed human eating monsters from a parallel universe which only he can stop - for a price.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH!

BUT in actual fact when he has stopped laughing he will find out what happened a trillionth of a second after the universe was created 13.7 billion years ago OR

We will all be sucked into a black hole. It could go either way.

The main things to know will be:

a. about new and interesting particles in the universe
b. dark matter - what it is and why it matters
c. this is not the right experiment for world dominationI better go and play football, to be on the safe side.

I Suggest You Try Tesco

I am definitely back from Stroud because we are in town and Dad makes me try on 4 million pairs of black school shoes - all the same. Finally he chooses the perfect pair and it turns out you get a free school bag as well.
'Excellent,' says Dad, 'now we don't have to buy you a school bag.'
I poke at the bag. 'Think again Father of Mine,' I say. 'I would rather use Mum's handbag.'
'Nothing wrong with it!' snaps Dad. 'Now, what's next on the list...ah, new PE kit.'
Most of my friends get their stuff from Tesco but Dad says that if we do that then local shops will go out of business. So I am forced to be seen dead in Mr Elliott's School Emporium.
'Ah, this takes me back,' says Dad as he pushes open the tinkly door. 'Good old Eggy, I used to come here to buy my school uniform!'
I shake my head at this horrifying news. 'I'm sorry, Dad - I didn't know.'
Mr Egghead appears from behind a rack of grey shirts. He has bottlebottom lenses in his face sized glasses and not one single hair on his head. It gleams in the spotlight.
'School? Size? Sex?' he asks.
'Nupton Valance Primary. Nine year old boy,' snaps back Dad.
Mr Egghead laughs a low sniggery laugh. 'I see.' Hahahahahahaha.
I look up at Dad in a questioning sort of way.
Dad coughs. 'We just need a PE kit.'
Mr Egghead stops laughing. He bends low and whips out a tape measure. He flings it around like one of those ribbon gymnasts in the Olympics. Then straightens up.
'We're all out of PE kit in his particular size,' he says. 'In any size,' he adds with a sneer.
'But I can see them over there,' I say, pointing to the shelf marked, PE KIT.
'He's sharp,' says Mr Egghead, 'too sharp - now excuse me I have trousers to rearrange!'
'But,' says Dad. 'But...'
'I suggest you try Tesco. Good day!' And he laughs again. Hahahahahahahahahaha
'I don't remember him laughing quite so much when I was young,' says Dad as we are chucked out of the door.
'I don't think anybody normal laughs quite that much, Dad,' I reply. I am struck with a brilliant idea. 'I left my school bag in his shop - shall we go back and get it?'
'NO!' says Dad, 'you can choose your own - from Tesco.'
The Voltaic backpack uses photo cells to charge itself up and then you can keep going with your mobile, I-pod and night vision goggles as long as you like. You cannot get it from Tesco.

Going to Stroud

We are travelling to Stroud for our holiday and will not be seen for about two weeks. See below.
Bye.

Fantastic Invention No. 15 - The Lawnmower

It turns out that Weird Bloke was not actually dead which was lucky for him. He had to go to hospital with a traumatic head injury and would most likely never be the same again which was also lucky. Peter the Viking turned out to be the Museum child handler and not a Viking at all. He went out of his tree about the centurion wig mix up and threatened us from ever going back to his museum again. We all cheered. So, things were not a total failure AND we did not have to finish the worksheets.

To soothe myself I am showing you one of the greatest unknown inventors, Edwin Beard Budding and his fantastic invention, the lawnmower. Be amazed.

Edwin Beard Budding (1745 – 1846) lived in Stroud in Gloucestershire. He was an engineer and got the idea for a lawnmower from seeing a cloth trimming machine in the local mill. Maybe he had a terrible grass cutting trauma when he was a child; perhaps he was forced into grass-cutting labour at a very young age. Whatever the reason he looked at some blades set in a cylinder in a factory and it made him somehow ponder about their grass-cutting possibilities and then the lawnmower was born. He said, "country gentlemen may find in using my machine themselves an amusing, useful and healthy exercise." Dad does not find the lawnmower amusing at all and actually has alot of arguments with it. I tell him he does not appreciate what it was like before.

In 1830, Edwin Beard Budding invented the lawnmower. It is almost impossible to understand how long it took to cut the grass before that date. If you had a big house, you had an army of gardeners with scythes to keep your lawns trim; that or you brought in a flock of hungry sheep to do the job. The sheep could be a problem if you wanted to sunbath or go out for a romantic stroll or play a game of lawn tennis – they and their poo just got in the way. If you lived in a small house then you might not even bother with grass; being outside for fun was only for the people in big houses. If you did not want to starve, you would probably fill your garden with vegetables because grass was not going to fill you up.

Lawnmower world will tell you all you want to know about other sorts of lawnmowers. In the meantime here is a picture of a man with a beard using an actual Budding lawnmower. Look how happy he is. We are going on holiday to Stroud very soon and Grandpa Jack will be left in charge of the house and the stick insects. Hmmm.

Who Has Been Interfering With The Roman Centurion?

Saint Benedict was the saint of nettle rash. Not the sort of saint I want to be.

We are in the blue bit of The Museum and this is the Vikings. Weird Bloke is rushing which is weird because we cannot fill out our delightful worksheets properly. So, for example, one of the questions is:

If you were a Viking what name would you call yourself?
Draw a picture of you as a Viking plus your house and a diary for the past 5 years (include your favourite food and pastimes!)

Miranda is all set to spend the rest of the day on thinking about her name alone. When Weird Bloke shouts at her, she comes up with, Jade. Dexter and Me call ourselves, 'Peter' and Isambard puts down Sven because that is his brother's name.
'Excellent!' screeches WB and tangles up his legs as he scrabbles to his feet.
We LOOK at each other.
'I'll just put this worksheet in the bin...' says Isambard and he sidles over to a Viking cauldron.
'Yes! Yes! Very good!' says WB and now he is getting his big hanky out and mopping actually underneath his wig. 'Bit hot in here.'
Then Dexter spots something interesting. 'Battle axes! Clubs! Look at this!' He touches the pointy end of a sword which is completely forbidden by law and WB screams.
'My head!' he cries. 'It's on fire!'
It is defintely scarlet and it is now covered in bumps.
'Poison ivy,' says Isambard.
'Course not!' says Miranda. 'That is not a native species!' Her Dad is a world famous insect man and she thinks she is an expert on anything to do with nature and everything else in the world.
'Could be nettles,' I say. 'You need to spit on some dandelion leaves and rub it over you.'
'Get it off me!' he cries.
He is wrestling with the shoelace round his head. The wig is now half round his face like a mad beard. He runs and wrestles his way through the red bit which is the victorians. This is a shame because of all the fantastic inventions but now we are absolutely flying through history.

By the time we run into the Romans (yellow), Mr Trundle's head is scarlet all over.
'I love the Romans!' says Miranda. She smooths out her worksheet.
'HELP!' squeaks WB.
This calls for action. I grab at a Roman centurion, find the short dagger and charge at WB's shoelace. 'Hold him down!'
'You've got a gladius,' says Miranda, lying across WB's legs and ticking a little box on the worksheet. The others then jump on top of Mr Trundle and I saw through the shoelace and rip off the wig. The underneath is plastered with nettles. '
'Just as I thought - see!' I thrust the wig at Miranda.
'Humph!' She throws it away. It lands on the centurion' s helmet. 'A galea,' she murmurs. Tick.
'He's not moving,' says Dexter, climbing off his head. 'He's not breathing much either.'
'Just sleeping, I expect,' I say. 'He has been quite busy.'
'Could be dead,' suggests Isambard. He prods him quite hard with a nearby roman sandal. ('Caligae.' Tick.) 'He is dead.'
'Get his wig back on, then no-one will know anything,' says Dexter in a mysterious kind of way. He jumps up and pulls at the centurion's helmet. The helmet comes off together with WB's wig and another blonde wig belonging to the centurion. Dexter places the blonde wig on WB's head. 'There, much better.'
'You killed him,' says Miranda, pointing at me. 'I'm telling.'
'Then we'll have to kill you as well!' I jump up, dagger at the ready.
She glances at the information board next to the centurion. 'I'll just take that scutum and your pilum!' she says, grabbing a shield and a spear.
Dexter and Isambard crouch down. 'Wilf! Wilf! Wilf!' they yell.
Mirnanda and me circle the dead body of Mr Trundle. I snarl. Then Peter the viking appears.
'Oops,' I say.
'Wasn't me,' says Miranda.
Dexter has legged it. Isambard is studying the insides of a roman kitchen.
Peter strides over to WB stretched out on the roman pavement. He bends down and stares at him. 'Who?' he roars. 'Who has been interfering with the Roman Centurion??!!'
And he plucks the wig from WB's dead head.



Miranda has no chance against ME (see pic)

Greetings Time Travellers!

So, we are late getting to The Museum because Mr Trundle made the coach stop while he hunted down his wig. When he put it back on his head EVERYONE stared because it looked as though the top of his head had exploded. Mr Trundle just carried on. By the time the coach breaks down half a mile from where we should stop, Mr Trundle has used his shoelace to strap his wig down. He is a mad genius.

Inside the museum, a tall man called Peter dressed in Viking uniform, says,
'Greetings, time travellers! You're late. We need to catch up with our schedule, so gather ye round!'
He makes a list of instructions which mostly involve not touching anything and not eating near the exhibits or eating the exhibits and not straying from our group leaders.
'Here are your worksheets. Enjoy!' he says to finish.
I look at Dexter and he sticks a finger in his mouth and gags. Unfortunately, Mr Trundle hears him.
'You're not going to be sick as well are you?!?' he asks in a voice which races towards the end of the sentence. 'Sick? Sick? I'll open a window!' I think he is traumatised.
'NO!' shouts Dexter. He rolls his eyes at me. 'I hope we don't get him as our group leader.'
'He is our group leader already,' I tell Dexter. 'That is why he started talking about fishing to you.'
Dexter's eyes go big with horror. 'Now I AM going to be sick.'

Isambard, Dexter, Miranda and Me trundle round after Mr Trundle. He has colour coded our way round the Romans, Vikings and Victorians but in the wrong order. I cannot hardly think about what happened next because it is not nice. I will write it down for next week. I can tell you that Roman centurians and bad wigs do not mix. In the meantime here is a bit about a possible way of time travelling using black holes. I do not think Peter will have done this.

Time Travelling with Black Holes can be Dodgy

When stars are so absolutely massive they run out of puff and collapse. This implosion creates black holes. They have really strong gravitational fields. It is so strong that nothing can escape. Not even Mr Trundle's wig. Around the black hole is an event horizon. If you even touch it you will be sucked in never to escape. Aghhhhhhhhhhhh!

Here is an ice-cream cone. The top bit is the top of the black hole and the cone goes down to a singularity. Here, everything goes mad. If you travel down this ice cream cone, bad luck, you will be crushed beyond recognition. He-he-he. BUT if you get sucked into a rotating black hole, you can start shouting for joy because you might just come out of the other side in a different time and space. This is what a scientist called, Kerr said. Some people do not believe him but I do. It is fantastic.